Classic Poem

Oh, fame may heap its measure,
And hope its blossoms strew,
And proud ambition call us,
And honour urge us through —
But kinsfolk, kinsfolk,
My heart is all for you.

When stately halls are ringing
With mirth and light and song,
Among the mazy dances
The forms familiar throng,
And speak above the viols
The voices loved so long.

When wandering far I visit
Grey tower and haunted stream,
Beyond the storied casements
Those earliest hearth-fires gleam,
And dear Canadian forests
Grow dark around my dream.

No strange and lovely countries
Men venture far to view,
No power and gifts and glory
Are worth one heart-beat true;
Kinsfolk, kinsfolk,
My heart is all for you!